𝑨 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒕

🗝𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚅 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸𝙸: 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚞𝚎, 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸𝚝 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝙴𝚗𝚍.....𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐞🗝

NARRATOR'S POINT OF VIEW: 

Charlotte: gracefully settled into one of the plush armchairs in the living room, her eyes dancing between Poirot and the newspaper he held. In a soft, courteous tone, she commented, "I see, that Monsieur is already enjoying the afternoon newspaper."

Hercule Poirot: setting the newspaper aside with his characteristic precision, regarded Charlotte with a genteel smile. "Ah, my dear Mademoiselle Beaufort! I am a man who likes to spend his free time, when it is not investigating and closing cases, I prefer to read a daily newspaper. This will make my little gray cells relax after a busy day."

With that, he returned to the pages of the newspaper, immersed in the stories of the world. Meanwhile, Charlotte's eyes wandered to a nearby small shelf adorned with a collection of books. Among them, a hardcover with the title "Madame Bovary" inscribed in gleaming gold caught her attention. She gingerly picked it up, considering the literary treasure in her hands.

Charlotte: gently traced her fingers along the elegantly embossed cover of "Madame Bovary," her eyes fixed on its gilded title. In a hushed voice, meant only for her own ears, she whispered, "Madame Bovary...It's been so long since I've seen a book like this..."

But this wasn't just any book. It held a special place in Charlotte's memories, dating back to her childhood. In those early years, when she still resided in her hometown of Bordeaux, within the grand walls of Château de Bethencourt, she had encountered this very book in her father's private library. As she turned the pages now, the words triggered a cascade of nostalgic recollections.

Images of her family's château surfaced in her mind, as vivid as the pages she was leafing through. The fields of irises that lay near their ancestral home, each spring transforming into a sea of white and sometimes purple petals, conjured a serene scene. A younger Charlotte would often venture there, reclining amidst the blossoms, watching them sway in the gentle winds, as if whispering secrets to the world.

However, the insistent chime of the living room's clock, perched atop the fireplace, brought her back to the present. Its reminder, announcing the hour to be fifteen o'clock, compelled Charlotte to withdraw from the depths of her reverie.

Hercule Poirot: keen eyes briefly shifted to the clock perched atop the grand fireplace, and he remarked, "Oh, it looks like it's time for our lunch. Shall we go, Mademoiselle?" With a graceful rise from his comfortable armchair, he strode purposefully towards the dining room.

Charlotte: her wistful reverie gently set aside, responded, "Oui, Monsieur." Placing the cherished book on the petite shelf with due care, she promptly followed Poirot into the inviting dining room.

IN THE DINING ROOM:

Charlotte expertly set the table, her deft hands moving with precision. The tantalizing aroma wafting from the kitchen hinted at a delectable meal being prepared. As the table was meticulously arranged, Charlotte took her seat, while Poirot was diligently finalizing the culinary masterpiece in the kitchen.

From the kitchen emerged Poirot, bearing two trays each crowned with a silver lid. The anticipation was palpable as he delicately placed the trays on the table, one for Charlotte and one for himself.

With an air of modesty, he revealed the culinary treasure beneath the silver lid and proclaimed, "Mademoiselle, you may not have considered me a particularly skilled cook, but I hope this dish will be to your liking." He lifted the lid, unveiling the masterpiece beneath. "Voilà, le coq au vin!"